Forgotten Treasures #19: THE SPECKLED BROOK TROUT--PART VI

THE SPECKLED BROOK TROUT

PART VI: AN ANGLER'S NOTES ON THE BEAVERKILL.
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The Beaverkill.





If there is one stream more than another that deserves the title of a
perfect trout-stream it is the Beaverkill. Rising in the high western
Catskills and continuing along the high western plateau, having an elevation
of from 1,500 to 2,500 feet, winding and twisting along between high hills
and under deep, shady banks and having frequent deep pools, it possesses
that first requirement, a cool temperature of the water. Excepting in those
rare years when all nature languishes in drought, the stream is broad, deep,
and copious. To the fly-caster it is the ideal stream, as he can-after the
spring "fresh" is over-wade the entire stream, excepting at two or three
very deep pools and at the falls. And the wading, too, is comparatively
easy; after one has attempted some of the Adirondack or Maine streams,
strewn with great square blocks of granite, the Beaverkill seems a veritable
boulevard. The water, naturally, is as clear as crystal. John Burroughs
says "there are no streams having the brilliancy of the Catskill streams."
The stream, indeed, seems to possess every requirement that a trout-stream
should have. The bed of the stream is generally broad, thus facilitating
easy fly-casting. The entire stream is a constant succession of rifts and
pools, following each other with singular regularity and affording a
never-ending source of interest. The head-water of the Beaverkill is Balsam
Lake, over on the western slope of Balsam Mountain. I imagine it is a very
wild country up that way, as it is entirely out of the way of all travel.
One day while hanging around Bill Hardie's, waiting for the buckboard to
take me down stream, I fell in with a native from that region. He had some
things done up in a bandana handkerchief and was tramping home; he told me
it was "purty quiet and lonesome up there, and considerable unhandy for
getting things in and out, but he felt that someone had to live up there, so
he made up his mind that he would." Weavers is about as far as most anglers
go; the stream there is small, but having the same rifts and pools that
characterize it lower down. From the falls to where Alder Brook "comes in"
the Beaverkill is only a mountain-stream, but from Alder Brook the bed of
the stream widens and the mountain-stream becomes a "little river," and from
there on down the fly-caster generally has plenty of room for his back-cast.
It will matter little to the fly-caster where he starts in, he will surely
find beautiful water to whip his flies over.



Changes Caused by Floods.



The great rush of water that flows every few years in the Beaverkill causes
many changes in the bed of the stream. One of these big "freshes," as they
are called. Occurred about the year 1895 and it made great havoc, especially
between Shin Creek and Ellsworth's. Just below Shin Creek there was a large
pool on Abel Sprague's land that we called the swimming-hole; this was
completely filled up with stones and a flat rift above was hollowed out into
a deep pool. At Voorhis's great changes took place, the big pool called the
"Second Docking," one of the most enchanting places for fly-fishing, was
entirely turned about, the pool filled up, and a new channel formed back
under the hill-side. "Little Pond Brook," another pool, beloved by all
old-timers, was ruined. At the "Big Bend," about midway between Jersey's
and Ellsworth's, there was a great upheaval of rocks and stones, piled up
fifteen to twenty feet high, and the entire character of the stream was
changed. I fear that many a lusty trout met his death in that same "fresh,"
for I know the fishing was very poor all that spring and summer.


The Izaak Walton of the Beaverkill.



All those old-timers who fished that part of the stream about Shin Creek
knew Mr. Theodore Ingalsbe-"Uncle Thee" we called him. It was my good
fortune to fish many days with Uncle Thee, and my mind teems with a thousand
reminiscences of fishing-trips with him, up and down the stream. Uncle Thee
was the acknowledged crack fly-fisherman of the Beaverkill. He always
caught fish; he used a ten-foot rod, and, as a rule, put out from forty to
sixty feet of line. He was by far the longest fly-caster I have known on
the Beaverkill, and the dexterity with which he kept that long line from
"getting up trees" was a sight worth seeing. I shall have more to say of
Uncle Thee later on.



Varieties of Trout in the Beaverkill.



The New York Fish Commissioners have from time to time put a variety of
foreign trout in the stream; just why I cannot explain, as the native trout
is far superior to all others in every respect. This was well illustrated
by a fish commissioner of a neighboring State, who remarked that "one might
as well try to paint the rainbow as to improve on our native trout." For a
time good sport was had with some "California" trout-as they grew to a large
size, they added greatly to the sport-but in a few years they entirely
disappeared. I once had an exciting time with one of those big
"Californias." One June afternoon Uncle Thee and I strolled down to
"Davidson's" Eddy. We were about to start in when Uncle Thee discovered
that he had forgotten his landing-net. I insisted upon his taking mine.
When I was about half way down the eddy and Uncle Thee was near the lower
end I hooked the big fellow. I had on a No. 12 Cahill for a second dropper
and the "California" took it with a rush that made my blood tingle. I
immediately shouted to Uncle Thee to bring the net. Just opposite a lot of
drift trash had caught and toward this the trout made frantic rushes. I was
using a nine-foot four-ounce rod. In some way Uncle Thee had entangled the
elastic attached to the net in such a manner that we could not undo it, so I
told him to net the trout for me. I then began to reel up, the big fellow
rushed and tugged, but the little rod was true and the snell was one I had
tied myself, so I kept up the pressure and he soon came along. Uncle Thee
made a sweep for him but missed him, and away he flew for the drift trash.
Again I reeled him up, and that time Uncle Thee slipped the net under him
and we carried him on shore; he measured over nineteen inches and was very
broad and deep, shaped somewhat like a bass. I have never caught a native
as large as that in the Beaverkill, so cannot compare the gamy qualities
between the California and the native. I have since caught a brown trout
that measured over twenty-two inches that did not begin to "put up the
fight" that the California did. For a time a few rainbow trout were
caught, but they soon ran out. Then we occasionally saw a trout that for a
better name we called "hybrid," a pretty, bright-colored fish with small red
spots; they also disappeared. Then, with a rush, came the brown and German
trout; I say with a rush because they have multiplied so fast that they now
out-number the native. Comparisons are generally
odious, but they are especially so when you compare a brown trout to a
native. In appearance the brown is scaly, flat, greenish-yellow, irregular
in form, bad eye, homely all over. In the native the scales are invisible;
he is gold and silver, round and symmetrical, and as beautiful an object as
lavish nature produces. In a sporting way, the brown rushes at a fly and
impales himself and then holds back hard and dies limp and wilted. The
native, with a gleam and a glint, darts for the fly, and unless the angler's
eye and hand are quick, he has taken the fly in his mouth, found it is not
food, spit it out, and is off, all in the twinkling of an eye. When hooked
he darts about, turns over and over, is here, there, and everywhere. When
netted, he is still fighting, and keeps on fighting and kicking to the
bitter end. The brown is more of a cannibal than the native; in fact, most
brown trout that I have opened have contained trout, some of which have been
a fourth as long as themselves. As food, the flavor of the brown becomes
"weedy" after the middle of May and is decidedly unpleasant to the taste,
though early in the season he is not so bad. The native is sweet and
delicious as long as the stream is up. All talk now about the brown trout
is futile; they are there to stay and will remain a long as there are trout
in the stream.



Flies.



One of the peculiarities of the native trout is that they will seldom rise,
in the daytime, to a fly that has much red in its composition. The most
successful flies are the dull, modest-colored ones. The following list is
as complete as needed: Cahill, Marston's Fancy, Drab Wing Cowdung, March
Brown and Ginger March Brown, Whirling Dun, Black Spinner, Coachman, Black
Gnat, Orvis's Red Fox, and Yellow May or Green Drake on No. 12 or 10 hooks.
My preference is for a Sproat hook. I like a long, slender point and a
fair-sized barb. The O'Shaughnessy is the best hook for big flies, but is
too clumsy for anything less than a No. 8. The Cahill fly should have
light-brown speckled wings; they are often tied too dark. In my opinion the
Cahill is the best fly on the Beaverkill; it was the best when I first
fished the stream, and it is the best to-day. It would be difficult to say
why this fly has remained so killing when others have had their season and
then have proved worthless. Of course, the angler may increase the above
list a hundred fold; he may use a Hackle, a Professor, or a Queen of the
Water with occasional success, but in my experience the cast that kills is a
Cahill for a stretcher and a Marston's Fancy and a Drab Wing Cowdung for
droppers. The Marston's Fancy is tied in various patterns, but the one I
have found the best is that shown in Mrs. Marbury's "Favorite Flies." But
that book must not be a guide to the Cahill, as Fig. 121 in "Favorite Flies"
is a very different fly. Fig. 118 is more like a Cahill; possibly it is a
typographical error in giving 121 instead of 118. The body of the Cowdung
should be a light greenish-yellow, not a cinnamon color. The Yellow May and
Green Drake are used in May only, when the May fly is on the water. The
Coachman and Black Gnat are used in the evening, especially in June and
early July. Uncle Thee always used a Coachman for a stretcher; he was
frequently criticized for this, but his reason for doing so, as he confided
to me, was simply that he could see it better. A No. 10 fly, fifty or sixty
feet away and partly under water, is not a particularly conspicuous object
at best, and the white wings of the Coachman were probably more so than the
usual drab wing. Orvis's Red Fox is a good fly, so also is the Whirling
Dun. The March Brown and Ginger March Brown are to be depended upon, also
the Black Spinner. The Orvis's Red Fox is also the correct pattern for the
Beaverkill fly, which is tied in a score of different ways.



A brown trout will take anything from a Parmacheene Belle to a brass button.
I met a fisherman last year who was greatly exercised over a brown trout he
had caught under the bridge below Joe Cammer's; he thought it looked mighty
big and had opened it and found a snake eighteen inches long inside. That
was a good story, but not half so good as the famous one told by Jerry
Durgin, down in Maine. Jerry was out with a "Sporter" when they "hooked a
trout that only measured twelve inches but weighed two and one-half pounds;
they cut him open, when out jumped a mink; they caught the mink and took it
home and put it in a cage, and by and by it had two little minks." An old
friend of mine who lives on the Beaverkill told me with considerable
excitement of a fisherman down below Rockland who had taken three trout that
weighed over three pounds apiece. "Did he get them on a fly?" I inquired.
"Yes," he said, "on a fly, or grasshopper, or something."



One Sunday in the spring of 1899 I was on the bridge at Craig-e-clare,
watching the trout rise to the natural fly on the water. I observed that
the smaller ones jumped clear out of the water for the fly, but noticed also
that the big fellows never came quite to the top, but moved about freely,
apparently feeding on the sunken flies. The idea occurred to me to use a
small 14 or 12 fly as a stretcher. I tried it the following day and have
done so very often since and with excellent result. The sunken fly is much
smaller than the fly on the surface of the water.



Casting a Fly.



In casting, I believe in using all the line the width of the stream will
permit; the point is to keep as far out of sight as possible. Never cast
directly across from you, as the fly will float back toward you and leave a
slack line, but by casting a trifle below, the fly floats away from you.
Don't neglect the side of the stream you are on, nor the middle of the
stream; cast out your flies light and easy, being careful to cover the
entire pool, even the very shallow places, for trout, especially in early
spring, will run into shallow water to sun themselves. If you have a rise
and miss the trout, don't cast back immediately, but wait a minute and then
cast with the utmost care over the spot where the trout arose. Don't put
your flies too near each other, they should be from two and one-half to
three feet apart. Always try to keep the second dropper on the top of the
water, there is more sport in hooking one trout on the rise than a dozen
under water; in the former you feel that you have fairly earned your fish.
If you are a novice in the gentle art, try counting three. One, you pick
the flies quickly from the water. Two, you allow the line to lengthen out
behind. Three, you make the cast; if the cast is a long one count two and
three for the back cast and four for the cast. Use your wrist chiefly and
don't be afraid of your rod. Take hold of it as though you could whip a
horse with it, give it life, put force into your cast; so long as your wrist
makes the cast the rod will not be injured. Remember to take time between
the back cast and the cast; there must be an interval, otherwise your flies
will not lengthen out behind or above. When you make the cast send the
flies out, not down; cast as though you intended to make the end fly strike
some imaginary object three feet above the water. The philosophy of the
science is simply to make the rod bend-that's all; if the rod bends to and
fro the line will follow. Try your rod before you run out the line and see
how the snap of your wrist does the work. Switch it back, pause a moment,
then switch it forward. Use your wrist all you can; your arm simply follows
in obedience to the movement of your wrist. Keep your rod perpendicular
whenever possible; in the back cast the rod should be a trifle to the right,
but the forward cast is from the perpendicular. Put your thumb up the rod
and directly back of it; this will prevent the sweep from going too far
back; in the cast the thumb is still at an angle, never lengthened out. The
tip of the rod covers about one-half of a semicircle. Look at your watch;
let the hours 9 to 3 represent the semicircle; the tip of your rod covers
that part of the semicircle represented by 11 and 2. Be careful to get all
your line and leader out straight and taut; your flies will then drop
lightly on the water; that is the object to be attained, to have your flies
light naturally on the water, and at the same time to have your line and
leader taut from the tip of the rod; you are then all ready to strike when
you have a rise. Remember, the wrist does it all, makes the cast and
strikes the fish. Don't wave your arm as though you were signalling the
Empire Express.


Rods.



In fishing from a canoe on still water I prefer a light, whippy rod, but in
fishing the Beaverkill, especially when the water is high, a rod can hardly
be too stiff. The water carries the flies along rapidly; the trout darts
out like a flash; now, if your rod is long and whippy, the tip, when you
strike, will dip a long distance toward the water before it sweeps back to
hook the fish, and an appreciable amount of time is thus lost; with a stiff
rod you save that time and are therefore more likely to hook your fish. It
is hooking a fish on the rise that is the cream of fly-fishing. My favorite
rod for the Beaverkill, especially in the spring, is a six-jointed split
bamboo, that measures nine feet and weighs four ounces. That style of rod
is frequently used on rapid streams; the short joints add to the stiffness
of the rod. A rod of that style, in order to stand the strain, should not
only be hand-made but should be made by an expert, and should cost from $30
to $50. Very often a rod that is too whippy can be stiffened by taking a
couple of inches from each joint. There is nothing more heart-rending to
the fly-caster than to have trout rise to his flies and not be able to hook
them.



Landing a Trout.



When you hook a good-sized trout in quick water, never try to reel him up to
you, but keep a taut line and gradually work down below him, reeling in as
you move along; then lead him back of some rock or in some part of the
stream where the water seems less swift; then reel up all the line excepting
about six or eight feet; this you take up inch by inch in your fingers until
you judge the length of line and leader is such that you can reach your net
under him; then take the rod in your left hand and hold the line between
your fingers and thumb-you will thus be ready to give him line in case he
makes a rush; then lead him toward you from the side, not from above or
below, or move over to him, raise the tip of your rod until the trout is
near enough, and then slip the net under him. Kill him at once by striking
him a sharp blow between the eyes-never let a trout die in your creel; then,
finally, take the hook from his mouth, and if you have induced him to take
your fly on the surface you can feel that you have done a good stroke and
fairly earned your trout. If the trout is a big fellow you may be obliged
to lead him down to the pool below, but it's always a bit more sport to land
your trout in a rift, if you can.



Leaders.



The leader is the most important part of the fly-caster's outfit; the length
must be guided by the length of the rod; it should reach, after the end fly
is attached, from the reel to within three inches of the tip; the color
should be a light blue, commonly called mist color; the strength should be
equal to the strength of the largest trout you expect to catch; this you
must decide by putting your leader to a severe test; after first soaking it
well, hook one end over some convenient object, and then pull-don't be
afraid of it, pull hard; if it breaks you can easily tie it again. Don't
continue to use a leader too long; it is wise to give it a good test two or
three times a day. In attaching the droppers, I prefer, for stream-fishing,
to put the fly directly on the leader and not on a loop. The object to be
obtained is to keep the fly from whipping around the leader. My experience
has taught me that the fly stands out better when fastened directly to the
leader; this is done simply by looping up an inch or so of the leader just
above a knot and then slipping the loop of the fly over the leader, then
putting the fly through the loop and pulling taut; the snell of the fly
must, of course, be previously well soaked. In putting on the fly be sure
to have the point toward you, otherwise it will float on its back. This is
an important matter that you cannot be too careful about; watch constantly
to see that your flies float naturally and not upside down. I do not like
drawn gut, it is too brittle; it seem to dry very quickly, and when dry
breaks with a snap..



Sawdust.



There are two subjects that sadly need the attention of the Fish
Commissioners on the Beaverkill-the question of sawdust and "posting." The
saw-mill at Voorhis's has ruined all that part of the stream from Voorhis's
to Ellsworth's for fly-casting; the bait fisherman may be able to catch fish
by sinking his worm, but the fly-caster cannot catch trout when his flies
float on sawdust or a piece of scantling. Unfortunately for the fisherman,
the saw-mill people and the commissioners had a legal set-to, in which the
commissioners did not secure their point; this was virtually a victory for
the saw-mill. Prior to that lawsuit the sawdust was carted over on the
bank, but afterward it was dumped into the stream, and especially so when a
luckless fly-caster happened that way. It is sad to think of the beautiful
pools that are now ruined-all that lovely stretch of water above and below
"Pappy" Dumond's and along by and below Mr. Jersey's place. A movement was
once started to induce the saw-mill people to put in a "blower," but it fell
through. Something should be done.



Posting.



This is a vexed question. Some fishermen pay the twenty-five or fifty
cents; others refuse, and go right along and "talk back" at the farmers.
Some farmers refuse all overtures to "fish over them," and threaten to
shoot, etc. All this is very unfortunate. It would be a good thing for the
fishermen if all the farmers from Flint's docking to Voorhis's would form an
association and charge a fee to fish over the entire stretch, so much per
day or week, and in return for this the farmer should build small ponds to
keep the fry furnished by the State for a year or so, and then run them into
the stream.



A Limit.



If that old Frank Forrester law, in force once upon a time in Long Island,
could have been made general and enforced, what a blessing it would be to
the angler of to-day! What a slaughter there has been! Two men killed 700
trout in one day, one man killed 250, another 200, and so on. One
Decoration Day, at Sprague's, enough trout to fill a wash-boiler were
brought in. It was then that Uncle Thee proposed that we all agree to kill
only eighteen trout a day hereafter. The season is too long; April 16th to
August 31st is unreasonable. July 15th should end it. How nice it would be
if one stream in New York was set aside for fly-casting only, the same as is
frequently done in Maine. To think of the Beaverkill freed from sawdust and
reserved for fly-casting only. How ecstatic! It is almost too enjoyable a
day-dream to permit yourself to indulge in.


The Month of May.



May is the fly-caster's month; the stream then is generally at a good height
for wading; the flies are on the water and the trout are on the rise; the
birds are flying north and all the air is filled with the melody of their
song; the mountain-sides are painted in their exquisite tints, not the
gorgeous reds and yellows of autumn, but the pale tints of early spring; the
mauves, the steel-grays, the lemon-yellows and pink and soft purple and
blue-all those light impressions-with only here and there a bit of red maple
or green hemlock to heighten the color. Then to start in at some part of
the stream that you have decided upon the previous evening; to feel the rush
of water about you and the constantly moving pictures of nature; to breathe
in deep the pure, cool mountain-air; the excitement of casting your flies
and the constant expectation of a lusty trout-here is a life worth living.
How the hours fly by! You look at your watch; it is two o'clock; you say to
yourself, "What have you done? "Where have you been? It seems but a moment
ago that you started in; how the time does fly!" What a joy it is to be
entirely alone with nature-to feel that you are a part of all that is going
on; that the birds are singing for you, the flowers are blooming for you;
the lovely violets on the edge of the water, the great splashes of white
blossoms on the "shin-hopple," the rich red of the wake-robin and the white
and red flowers of the trillium-all for you! And then, again, to reach the
pool that is your especial delight, the pool that you dreamed of all winter.
You wade in carefully and take your stand from where you can cast your flies
over all the favorite spots, every one of which brings back a memory of some
former visit when you had landed a beauty. Ah, that's the life! to feel
that you are a part of Nature, and that your love for her is the one great,
absorbing theme of your existence. Love and caress Nature, and she will
repay you a thousandfold. She will always prove your true, steadfast
friend, always trying to be a pleasure and a comfort to you, growing dearer
to you and more lovable to you as the years roll by.



Cutting Sticks.



On Sundays, Uncle Thee and I were accustomed to stroll along the border of
the stream and ramble through the wooded sides in search of walking-sticks.
Did you ever hunt for a good stick, one that was straight and strong and
having a good handle? Such a stick is hard to find, hence the fascination
of hunting for one. It's curious how few sticks are straight to begin with,
and if you find a straight one, the handle is imperfect, and so you go
poking about in the woods with a never-ending delight over the pursuit.
Incidentally, on these trips, we also kept our eyes open for some big trout
that might rise and disclose his "home," possibly behind some big rock or
under some bank or other hiding-place from where he could dart out for a
passing fly. When we reached Davidson's Eddy we were sure to see some
evidences of big trout. Davidson's Eddy is probably the most celebrated
pool on the Beaverkill. The stream along there runs in a southerly
direction, and just at the eddy there is a high hill on the western side
that shades the pool most of the afternoon. It is shallow along the eastern
bank, and deep under the wooded banks on the western side, the very
conditions that a fly-caster especially loves. It is thus a particularly
interesting pool for afternoon and evening fishing. At Davidson's Eddy we
would sit down and watch for the trout to rise. Uncle Thee was more or less
given to sentimentalizing on these Sunday rambles. One of his favorite
hobbies was that time-worn subject, "things always adjust themselves," and
many were the stories he would tell to illustrate this, some of them highly
interesting and not a few quite dramatic. Uncle Thee insisted that if you
transgressed against the laws of God and Nature you suffered, and if you
lived up to them you were repaid. "That every man carried about in his own
heart a heaven or a hell, the one always ready to please and exalt him if he
did right and the other to depress and torment him if he did wrong." Uncle
Thee's religion was a very simple one; he had turned against all creeds, he
said. "As I grow older my faith and belief in an Almighty Being grows
stronger. I find that all the religion I need is the implicit belief that
my love for God grows deeper and stronger, and that my faith and love shall
remain steadfast to the end." The expression of his face showed that his
words were true, always kindly and loving, quiet and sincere, faithful and
true, and with all a childlike simplicity that won all hearts. Even Bill
Hardie allowed him to fish "over him."



"He kept his soul unspotted

As he went upon his way."

. . . . . .

"He had time to see the beauty

That the Lord spread all around;

He had time to hear the music

In the shells the children found."



A Hobby.



The idea of a hobby is at least interesting to all men, to have some
diversion to fill your leisure hours and to look forward to, to dream over
on dismal winter days, and to divert your mind when cares annoy. What hobby
can be more interesting, more captivating, more satisfying than the hobby of
fly-casting? There are a hundred and one features to it-you can tie your
own flies, make your own rods, mend, fix, adjust, always some delightful
things to "tinker" over or with, arranging your flies and all that, and then
the "art" itself. Nothing can be more enjoyable than to wade a stream, to
feel the rush of water about you, the constant excitement, the forgetting of
all other affairs, the out-door life, the health and appetite, the meeting
with other anglers and the telling over of the day's sport. Here is a
fascination that will last you all your life, and be a delight to you in
extreme old age. Let me warn you, my reader, if you are not a lover of
Nature and out-door life you are missing one of the greatest blessings this
world affords.



END PART VI